


Unending Pas de Deux

by Icie



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icie/pseuds/Icie
Summary: Fakir finds a cottage in the woods and someone to dance with.





	Unending Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spacecadet72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecadet72/gifts).



> This is not set in a particular point in canon, but rather loosely within canon's structure.

Fakir adjusts his horse's tack. He settles it more firmly and yanks the girth tighter, mumbling his thanks and patting her shoulder as she huffs out air. He doesn't like taking her out at night like this. Her build is light, with fine bones, and she's a delight to ride but that wouldn't stop her from losing her footing on an unkept road and going lame in an instant.

He whispers comfort into her ear and she whuffs his hair in return. "Luck to us both," he says aloud as he mounts and nudges her into the night.

It's tempting to kick his horse into a full gallop and rush in, sword flashing and calling for Mytho all the while. Instead, he tightens his grip on the reins and keeps her pace steady, guiding her through the darkness.

To keep the shadows from growing into phantoms in his imagination, he thinks about the paths Mytho may have taken. He could have turned towards the sea and the shore, or he might have kept to the trade route and headed for the city a day and a half's ride through the hills. Or there’s the winding path through the arching trees of the woods, one that curves into a darkness that won't lift as the sun rises.

Fakir knows which one he will have taken, however. He doesn't have to acknowledge that he will be following him into the woods for another hour's ride, and he chooses to enjoy that time as much as he can—a rather small amount to begin with.

While Mytho must be travelling on foot, Fakir doesn't let his horse slow. Sense tells him Mytho can't cover much ground while walking, and definitely not as much as Fakir on horseback, but Fakir knows better to listen to sense. Mytho has taught him that well.

Reaching the split in the road, he takes the centre fork into ever denser blackness. Outside of the woods, a tinge of colour begins to light the sky, but inside, Fakir dismounts and leads his horse along the path by hand. 

The woods thicken more and more, until Fakir has to consider that he may have strayed from the path, as he has to hold his free arm up to his face to push away stray foliage. He flinches as one whip-like branch springs back to lash against his cheek. He presses through, and stumbles as the undergrowth abruptly thins into a carefully groomed garden.

The thin morning light cascades down through a gap in the canopy onto a picturesque cottage. It's surrounded by flower beds and a small pond, water rippling in a cool breeze. Fakir takes a full breath—the first for a while, he thinks—and feels himself relax. This place feels calm. It feels like—

He tenses. On guard again in an instant. It feels like Mytho, but off, like he's looking through thick glass, or water.

He whispers at his horse to stay still, giving her neck a rub, before venturing closer to the cottage himself, one hand on the hilt of his sword. 

The door opens with a touch, and the inside is filled with shadows. The rooms feel as large and ominous as the woods. He steps through each of them, his footsteps the only sound tracking behind him. That is, until he opens the final door in the house.

Soft music plays. Princess Tutu turns en pointe in a slow pirouette, steps out, and gestures _dance with me_.

He falters, shifting his weight to his back foot. He shakes his head.

She gestures again, returning his move back with a move forward. _Dance with me._

He engages her. A _pas de deux_.

The music rises, as they follow each other through small gestures and routines he's practiced time and time again, and continues to rise. The sounds fill his ears until he can't hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat, nor feel her light touch on his hands as he spins her. 

The room is too small for their movements, but together they manage their steps through the space. Fakir even lifts her, smooth and perfect. He doesn't know that he's managed one quite like it before.

The music begins to reach its end, but Fakir senses the dance pulling away from the melody, and continuing on.

Fakir dances. He can't not.

He leads Princess Tutu, but only technically. He can't look away from her, and his dancing begins to suffer for it. He falters, and then again, before he stumbles, recovering only a moment before his knee hits the ground. He's up again before he can think, most of his mind still caught in the dance, but some portion has returned to him—enough that he notices Princess Tutu's dancing is different from the gentle, kind grace he remembers.

Her fingers pass through his chest, and cup his heart. He clenches his teeth together, and tastes copper as he realises his tongue has gotten in the way.

"I want this," she says. And he's himself.

He shoves at her. He stumbles back, and loses balance. He lands with a thump on the floor. His heart thumps. He clutches at his chest.

When he looks up, his sense of his heartbeat and surroundings have returned, and Princess Tutu no longer looks like Princess Tutu, but a doll in a practice leotard. She continues dancing, a mechanical, jerky pirouette, but this time he doesn't feel the draw to join her, even as her hands pass over each other once again. _Dance with me._

A voice calls — outside the house? — and one after the other the doors he came through slam back on their hinges. The voice continues to call, growing closer. The final door flies open. Ahiru stands in the doorway.

"Fakir!" she blurts.

He finds himself smiling, even though he's exhausted from the endless dance. "Ahiru," he replies, and accepts her hand to raise him up from the floor when she offers it. 

How she came to be here, he's not sure. He came by horse, and she has nothing with her to grant her speed. But... he doesn't think he needs to know, not right now, not when he can help her onto his horse, and lead the two of them on to find Mytho.

This is less lonely, he thinks. This is nice.


End file.
